“You call this a collection?” Bridge sneers, his all-black ensemble somehow looking even more dramatic against the waterfall backdrop. He pivots sharply, his eyes blazing with that trademark intensity. “I inherited Blackthorne Couture from my father, but I made it LEGENDARY. I dressed QUEENS. I dressed PRESIDENTS’ WIVES. I dressed three generations of the Kardashian-adjacent!” His voice rises with each declaration. “And you—YOU—dare to present me with hemlines that belong in a PRISON JUMPSUIT?” He strikes a final pose with one arm extended toward the Seven Sisters waterfall. “I AM FASHION. I AM BRIDGE BLACKTHORNE. AND YOU,” he points dramatically at an invisible offender, “ARE FIRED!”
The silence that follows is broken only by thunderous applause from Bess and Nettie.
“That’s my favorite scene from season thirty-four!” Nettie shouts.
“The one where he fired seventeen designers in one episode!” Bess adds.
“Exactly!” Bridge confirms, bowing graciously.
Marlie floats closer to me, shaking her head. “He practiced that runway walk for six months. And I know for a fact, he pulled a hamstring twice. The man is dedicated to his craft.”
I’ll say. They all obviously are.
After all four have delivered their signature lines, Boomer calls for a reset. “Now, we have a special segment. Dirk—Victor Darkmore will deliver a tribute to his late character wife, Victoria Darkmore, against the backdrop of the Seven Sisters Falls.”
Marlie’s ghost goes absolutely still beside me. “He’s going totalk about me?” she asks, as her voice wavers between anger and curiosity.
Victor positions himself perfectly, the waterfall framing him like a living backdrop. The cameras roll, and his face transforms into a mask of dignified grief.
“Victoria,” he begins, and his voice is heavy with emotion. “My greatest adversary. My truest love. Like these seven sisters falling endlessly into the fjord, our story was one of beauty and tragedy. Though you left this world in a chandelier accident that some called suspicious,” he pauses dramatically, “your spirit lives on in the hearts of millions. Your schemes were diabolical. Your revenge plots were legendary. Your shoulder pads... revolutionary.”
“What?” Marlie vibrates with rage beside me. “Chandelier accident?” she hisses. “We all know the truth. He pushed me! Well, he demanded that Madison loosen the bolts, which is basically the same thing! And he’s crying? Madison went from fetching my coffee to warming my side of the bed in record time. I hadn’t even been cremated yet! He didn’t even wait for the life insurance check to clear before moving her into my closet!”
So, both Madison and Victor are responsible for Marlie’s death. It does beg the question if Victor is capable of murdering more than one wife.
“And even though you’ve been gone fifteen years,” Victor continues, a perfect tear sliding down his cheek, “not a day goes by that I don’t think of your magnificently evil cackle, your ability to return from the dead multiple times, and your unprecedented talent for slapping people on live television—even when it wasn’t called for.”
“That’s IT!” Marlie shrieks and lunges forward. She zips her way to Victor, her ghostly form shimmering with furious energy that makes the air around her crackle.
“You absolute—” She swings her translucent fist and connects!
I’ve seen some strange things since developing my supernaturalquirk, but this is a first. Okay, so it may not be a first, but it always feels so stunningly fresh when it happens.
Somehow, through sheer spectral rage or some supernatural loophole, Marlie’s ghost manages to make physical contact. One moment Victor is delivering his Emmy-worthy performance, and the next he’s stumbling backward with a look of genuine shock, then toppling into the shallow pool at the edge of the viewing platform with a decidedly undignified splash.
Chaos erupts immediately. The trophy wives scream in perfect harmony. The camera crew rushes forward, and equipment is hoisted high to protect it from the water. Boomer shouts something about insurance coverage. And through it all, Marlie hovers above the scene, looking as surprised as everyone else but significantly more pleased.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she admits, examining her ghostly hands with newfound respect. “Fifteen years of haunting, and I’ve been missing out on the good stuff!”
And by good stuff, I’m pretty sure she means assault.
Victor emerges from the pond like a drowned rat in designer clothing, his perfect hair plastered to his skull and his expression cycling rapidly through confusion, anger, and, most interestingly,fear.
“I felt something,” he sputters, allowing Bridge and Santino to help him onto dry land. “A hand—I swear I felt a hand push me!”
“It was probably just the wind,” Boomer says quickly, licking his finger and holding it up to the perfectly still air. “Or you lost your balance on the slippery rocks.”
“I know what I felt,” Victor insists, his eyes darting around wildly. “It was cold, like ice, and it feltfamiliar.”
“Perhaps Victoria’s ghost didn’t appreciate your tribute,” Harper suggests with a sly smile that makes me wonder exactly how much she knows—or how many ghosts she can see.
Victor’s face drains of all color. “That’s not funny.”
“I thought it was hilarious,” Marlie comments, performing a ghostly victory dance just above his head.
While Victor is escorted to a heated tent to dry off and have his hair restyled, Boomer decides to film some reaction shots with the trophy wives against the backdrop of the waterfalls. This proves to be its own special kind of disaster.
“Ransom,” Val calls, teetering dramatically on a perfectly stable section of the viewing platform and holding onto a rather sturdy railing. “I think I need assistance navigating this treacherous terrain!”
